


No Amount of Wrong

by samwise_baggins



Series: Wrong [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bondage, Cousin Incest, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:15:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26150233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwise_baggins/pseuds/samwise_baggins
Summary: What happened with Frodo and Sam during the "How Can Wrong Become Right" story?
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee, Merry Brandybuck/Pippin Took
Series: Wrong [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898938
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	No Amount of Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: I wrote the song sung in this story, and no one can claim it otherwise.

Laughter rang down the lane as the last guests left the party. Frodo smiled and waved. Done. It was over. No more smiling for guests or pretending everything was just perfect. Now, he could relax and be his normal, withdrawn self.

The dark haired Hobbit turned letting his bright green door softly shut behind him, and surveyed the remnants of the birthday party he'd given for his cousin. It had been a wonderful party, and Frodo had enjoyed hosting it. Merry's coming-of-age would be the talk of Hobbiton for some years to come.

Slowly, Frodo walked into his parlor. There were the three remaining guests, invited to spend the night: Sam Gamgee, Merry Brandybuck, and Pippin Took. The three were talking and drinking ale and generally still enjoying Frodo's hospitality to the fullest. They looked so relaxed and happy that Frodo merely slipped into his comfortable chair to join in the general air of contentment.

"Oy, Frodo . . . have they gone, then?" Merry's voice was a lazy drawl.

Frodo nodded, smiling wider. "They have. I thought they'd never leave. Anyone for more ale?"

"I'll get that, Mister Frodo. You just sit and rest. You've been busy." Samwise Gamgee, Frodo's friend and servant, leapt to his feet. Actually, he more like struggled to his feet out of the comfortable chair. A pleasant smile lit his round face, and he shuffled into the kitchen, ignoring Frodo's weak protests.

Pip stood and moved around the room, restlessly. "What'll we do tonight? We've got hours and hours to play with."

Merry laughed. "And what would we play, Cousin? There're only four of us. Not like there's many games you can play with only four Hobbits and a lot of ale."

"Oh, I don't know. We could see how drunk Sam can get?" But Pip's mind was elsewhere. He'd just spotted a bit of lace and fluff by the door and headed right for it. Smiling, the Hobbit snagged the bonnet and shawl off of the wall hook and nodded. "Or we could all get drunk."

Shaking his head, blond curls bouncing, Merry laughed. "We are drunk, you looby. You've been walking sideways for a good five minutes now!"

Pip threw a grin over his shoulder, then pocketed the bonnet and bundled the shawl as small as he could. He made his way back to his chair and picked up his ale mug once more. "Better walking sideways than sitting sideways, Merry. You're listing worse than old Sandyman's oak tree."

It was that moment in which Sam chose to return with a pitcher of ale and a large plate of biscuits. He poured out for all, sat down, and started munching, happily holding his feet out to the warmth of the toasty fire. Normally, Sam wouldn't feel right sitting down as equals with Frodo and his cousins. True, he'd grown up with them, played with them, commiserated and plotted with them, but, all told, Sam Gamgee was of a lower social order than his three friends. They were gentlehobbits, and he was a gardener's son. For now, however, this one night he was to be equal. Mister Frodo had said so at the beginning of the party.

The four Hobbits ate companionably from Sam's plate for the next few minutes, comparing notes on the party in general and on certain Hobbits in particular. Soon, the ale was almost depleted in all four mugs, and the food was down to crumbs. Sam let out a contented sigh and carefully put the plate on a small table next to him.

Talk continued, and Pippin started to rove the room again. The others didn't pay much attention to the youngest of them, and much drunken laughter was exchanged. Pip stopped roving, right in front of Sam. Putting his cup down on the table, the Hobbit was unaware that it tilted and spilled on the ground. He was too busy grinning in full mischief.

Sam didn't notice. He'd drifted to sleep and was therefore completely oblivious to Pippin Took draping a frilly shawl over his legs. The younger Hobbit stilled, a grin on his face, as Sam moved in his sleep, head turning to the other side. As he didn't awaken, Pip finished what he was doing, placing a frilly woman's bonnet on top of Sam's blond curls.

Pip stood back, quite satisfied. He looked over his shoulder, the smile slipping only slightly when he noticed the others had been too busy talking to notice Pip's actions. "Going to get a blanket . . ." Pip called out happily. Sam was the only one who acknowledged that, by opening his eyes and grunting. The others kept right on talking.

With a sigh Pip wandered off towards the spare rooms looking for a pink frilly blanket.

" . . .And the look on his face! I didn't think I could keep from laughing, I really didn't, Frodo . . ."

Frodo nodded, smiling, listening to Merry's chatter. It felt good, being right here, right now. He sipped the rest of his ale, frowned at the mug, then sighed and sprawled in his chair. He felt warm and full; he'd get more ale in a moment. For now, he wanted to enjoy the lazy moment, celebrating the end of Merry's coming-of-age.

"Oy! Where's Pip, then?"

Merry's voice broke through Frodo's haze, and he blinked over at Merry. Looking around, puzzled, he answered slowly, "Don't know, Merry . . . was here just a moment ago." He ran a hand through his black curls, mussing them more than they had been.

Sam stirred himself enough to comment. "Went for a blanket to fight the chill."

Frodo looked over at Sam. Surprised, he couldn't help but grin. The sight of that frilly bit of lace on his chubby friend's head was absurd. Added to that was a lace shawl. Sam looked just like a little old woman hunched by a winter's fire. A giggle burst forth and Frodo immediately felt bad for laughing at Sam . . . but he just looked so funny!

He felt relieved and let himself laugh harder when Sam and Merry joined in the merriment.

Merry was snorting and panting, trying to catch his breath. "Ah . . . ah . . . ah . . . Oh, Pip would love this."

"What are we laughing at?" Sam chortled, enjoying a good joke, but wanting to understand the joke just the same. He had no clue what he looked like, as he had been asleep when Pippin had dolled him up.

Frodo laughed harder, unable to contain himself. He held out a hand, shaking and giggling. Before he could answer Sam, however, Merry jumped in.

"I'm going to get Pip . . . Sam, don't you move a whisker . . . this is just too funny." Then, Merry pulled himself up from his chair. He took another look at Sam and shook his head, guffawing as he stumbled towards the halls.

Frodo rose and patted Sam on the shoulder. He called after Merry, "If he wants a blanket, he'll be in one of the bedrooms. I'll help." Then the owner of Bag End and his Brandybuck cousin threw an arm around each other's shoulder and merrily made their way down the hall towards the bedrooms. They were accompanied by the occasional singsong of Merry calling "Pippin, Oy, Pippin Took, where be you, you scamp?"

Sam settled down, chuckling still. Whatever had set those two off was sure to be good. Mister Frodo would tell him in due time. Probably when Mister Pippin was with them again. And the four friends would all have a good laugh at whatever the joke was.

Normally Sam would have long ago been in bed, and not even dreamed of joining into the personal party of his friends. Now, with Frodo's invitation, Sam let himself dream. He closed his eyes and thought of more possible parties where he was allowed to join the other special guests. Instead of looking in through a window, Sam would be part of the group . . . one of the crowd . . . accepted.

"Now, Gamgee, don't you be getting thoughts above yourself. Mister Frodo invited you this time, but that don't mean you'll get another invite at all. One special party does not a gentlehobbit make." Sam sighed, having talked himself back out of his daydreams. A smile couldn't stay from his face, though, and the sigh sounded again, more contentment than regret. "Yes, but at least there's this one party to enjoy."

Looking around, Sam noted the mess. Here was something he could do while the others looked for Pip. He could clean up for Mister Frodo. The sturdy built Hobbit stood up, then frowned as something fell to the ground. He stooped and retrieved a lace shawl. It suddenly hit him what had been so funny to the other two. Sam reached up. Sure enough, his hand met with frills. With a slight frown, he pulled the bonnet off and stared at it.

Sam was a good-natured Hobbit at the best of times. He was also quite aware of his status in Hobbiton and among his friends. Drunk and feeling his place from the recent self-talk Sam started feeling bad. Had they done this on purpose? He tried to think back, recall what had happened, but it was a blank. So, he thought about their reactions to his stupid appearance.

Before he could puzzle out if it had been a deliberate prank to make him look a fool, an eerie keen broke through the still air.

Head snapping up, Sam froze at the sound. What in the Shire was that? It sounded like something had crawled out of Hell and was trying to call its friends to follow. He started shaking. True, Sam was often brave, without even thinking on it, but he was, after all, just a small Hobbit without weapon or fighting skill. That sound sent a chill right to his heart.

"Now, Samwise, you just calm yourself down. Mister Frodo and the others are out there, and they'll be needing your help, just see if they don't. So, use the brains you've got and figure this out." He started moving towards the sound, his feet dragging just a bit, as he puzzled what could have crawled into Frodo's back bedrooms.

Suddenly, it hit him. Pippin and Merry were playing a joke on good old, gullible Samwise! They were in the back rooms trying to scare him, make him run down there in the bonnet and shawl, maybe. Well, he wasn't falling for it. He'd just go down there and laugh in their faces, because good old gullible Samwise had figured them out.

Thus, straightening his vest and running a steady hand through his curls, Sam began to walk with a sure, quiet step towards that eerie keen. It changed to a blood-curdling scream. One of such horror and pain, Sam felt his insides twist. He nearly passed out in shock, and he just knew that one of the others were in trouble. That was no prank yell.

Sam tore down the hall, not caring how much noise he made, intent on protecting his friends. He made it to the fourth bedroom, where he saw the small, dark haired figure crumpled in the doorway, screaming. Elbereth! It was Mister Frodo! And Merry was holding him by the arms.

Skidding to a halt, sliding into a sitting position as he reached for his master, Sam gave a mighty shove to the Brandybuck, tossing a glare at him. "What have you done to Mister Frodo?" He was livid that Merry and Pip should pull a prank that would so scare or hurt Frodo.

"I've done nothing, Samwise Gamgee! He was passed out when I came in, and when he woke he started fighting and screaming! I wouldn't hurt Frodo, and you know it Sam Gamgee!"

Sam was too worried to pay attention to Merry's words. He was attempting to pull Frodo into his arms, making soothing noises, but suddenly Frodo went wild. He was clawing and scratching and biting, trying to get away. And all the while that awful hair-raising screaming came from his throat.

How was he going to calm Frodo? Sam tried desperately to capture the smaller Hobbit's hands, so he wouldn't hurt himself or anyone else. When his oldest sister'd had a crying fit, his mother had been the one to calm her. How? Then, Sam remembered. He took a breath and raised his hand.

The sound of flesh striking flesh reverberated around the room, and Sam felt instant guilt well up. Frodo's delicate skin was already starting to swell and darken. On the plus side, if it could be called that, the screams had stopped. Unfortunately, they were replaced by that eerie keening once more. Sam now knew it hadn't been a prank on him . . . it had been Frodo keening in mortal fear of something that Sam couldn't perceive.

Frodo started rocking, curling into a ball, tears streaming down his cheeks. With a sob of his own, Sam pulled his master into his arms. He recalled Merry's defense and answered him. "Well, something's got him worked up, Mister Merry!" He looked up and horror froze his features. "Elbereth! What happened to you, Mister Pippin?"

Pippin had angry welts on his wrists and ankles, leather burns up both legs, and bruising around his throat. His face looked like it'd been hit several times. He had no clothing on; the remains were strewn on the floor in tatters. On the bed where he perched were leather straps tied to the headboard or lying about loose.

Pippin covered his face, breaking down into sobs, his small body shaking so much it seemed he'd break apart. He wouldn't talk. Instead, little whimpering noises sounded from the tiny Hobbit, and Sam's anger fled instantly. Someone else had hurt Pip and Frodo, and Merry must have saved them both.

Guilt washed over Sam, threatening to drown him, and he hugged Frodo closer. He ignored the other two Hobbits by the bed to concentrate on his master. "Mister Frodo . . . your Sam's here now. Talk to me, Mister Frodo, please?" He rocked and rocked, listening to that awful keening, wondering how he could make things right again.

Sam felt fear start to build as he realized he couldn't help Frodo. He looked up at Merry, a plea in his sorrowful eyes. "I can't calm him, Mister Merry. He won't calm down . . ." He ran a hand through Frodo's curls, feeling the sweat dampening them.

A scared, small voice sobbed, "It was them . . . they did it to him, too . . ." Pip glanced over at Frodo and Sam then burrowed back into Merry.

Merry gently lifted Pip's chin with one strong hand. "Who did this to Frodo, Pip?"

"The Sa . . . Sa . . . Sackville . . . Bagginses, Merry. They did it. They said they'd done it to Frodo, too." Pip buried his face once more into Merry's shoulder and shuddered. Merry's arms tightened supportively.

Sam tried to register what the younger Hobbit meant. The Sackville-Baggins had stripped Pippin and tied . . . and . . . no! His green-gray eyes opened wide in horror and he shook his head slightly. "What? They trussed Mister Pippin . . . and Mister Frodo . . . up like a goose? But why?" His face paled, then flushed.

Merry's voice was gentle, yet firm, as he stated, "there are some, Samwise, who enjoy hurting others. It makes them feel good."

Sam shook his head, not comprehending how hurting someone could feel good. "If you say so, Mister Merry. But it don't make no sense, if you know what I mean. Hurting people's never been something I could fathom. I'm taking Mister Frodo to his own room. He needs rest."

He bent and gently, so gently, scooped Frodo into his sturdy arms. Slowly, Sam got to his feet, wavering only slightly under his precious bundle. Frodo didn't protest, didn't even move; he simply continued to keen. This disturbed Sam deeply.

He threw one last glance over his shoulder, where Merry was trying to comfort Pippin. They didn't need his help. Frodo did. Thus, he quietly left the room, kicking the door shut behind him.

The halls didn't feel safe any more. Expecting someone to jump out at any turn, Sam was shaking himself by the time he reached the Master bedroom. He had to fumble blindly for the door, barely able to free his hand from his burden. Finally, the Bag End Gardener got the door open and peeked over the threshold.

"Here now, Mister Frodo. We're in your room, now. You'll be safe here, see if you aren't." Sam moved towards the bed, hesitated, and then sighed. He felt like he was trespassing in this beautiful, old room. He'd never been in here before in his whole employment for Mister Bilbo then Mister Frodo. And here he was, walking in like he owned the place. But . . . he was doing this for Frodo. Frodo needed safe and familiar.

Taking his courage in his hands, Sam hardened his resolve and moved towards the bed once more. "Mister Frodo, I'm going to tuck you into bed, sir . . ."

He was answered with a horrendous shriek of fear. Frodo tried to claw his way away from Sam, who had all he could do to hold the smaller Hobbit still so he wouldn't hurt himself. Apparently, the bed was a bad idea; it scared Frodo.

 _Stupid, Gamgee . . . very stupid. Of course he's afraid. If what Mister Pip said is true, he'll not want to be . . . there for some while._ He loosened his hold on Frodo, without putting him down, and raised his voice. "Mister Frodo, we'll just sit down, then, okay? Come along, let's go into the parlor by the fire."

Frodo must have been hearing on some level, for the words _parlor_ and _fire_ broke through his fear. He started calming, going back to the keening. His hands inadvertently scraped over Sam's neck as he clenched his servant's vest and shirt.

Sam nodded ignoring the pain, moved out the door with his now quieter burden, and made his slow way down the hall. He purposely used a different route, not wanting Frodo to pass the other room and maybe go off again. The fire was still burning in the parlor, the remnants of the party still scattered around. It felt . . . safe in there, actually, and Sam felt his own muscles relax just a bit.

He moved over to the big chair Frodo favored. Sam had always fancied that the chair still smelled of Bilbo, even after all these years without him. He hesitated only briefly at the unconventionality of sitting in the master's chair, then pushed modesty and guilt away. Frodo needed him. Sam sat in the chair, adjusting Frodo on his lap for balance and comfort.

"Now, see, Mister Frodo? Isn't this better? Out here by the fire, like. We'll just sit here, and you won't have to do nothing but rest. I'll even clean up the party later. You just rest, Mister Frodo . . ."

Though the chair was not of the rocking variety, Sam had managed to get his body rocking just enough to feel the movement. Frodo seemed to respond favorably by quieting further. True, the keening hadn't ended yet, and Sam feared for Frodo's throat on that count, but it was quieter, less eerie and more pathetic.

Sam started stroking Frodo's hair.

He hadn't thought about his actions, just did what felt right. When he was small, his mum would always pet his hair and rock him, and so Sam instinctively mimicked those moments. Soon, he fell into another habit of his mum's: he started singing softly in a low, steady tenor.

It was a soft, sad song. One he'd made up, or heard in a dream, or pulled from a forgotten memory. But it was a soothing song, even if bitter sweet, and it steadied Sam's nerves a bit.

_Why do you turn your back to me?  
And why has your smile gone away?  
What then has occurred  
In your peaceful world  
To sadden your once happy day?  
Such a sweet throat should not be rent  
With rasping sobs or wrenching tears.  
Your life was so full:  
The songs gay and true.  
So why did your joys turn to fears?  
Who has broken that heart of yours?  
Why sing so sad of tomorrow?  
Was the horror death?  
A parting of friends?  
What causes a Hobbit's sorrow?_

Sam had been unaware that Frodo's keen had completely stopped somewhere in the middle of the song. He finished on a long, sad note then blinked. Something was different . . . Sam looked down at the still Hobbit in his lap and found himself looking into huge, tear-washed blue eyes. Relief poured out of him in waves.

"Mister Frodo . . ."

Frodo reached up and tangled his hands in Sam's collar, then tugged. Sam leaned forward, uncertain what Frodo needed. His face was within a breath when Frodo's lovely eyes closed and his lips met Sam's in a soft, tentative kiss.

Sam was too stunned to do anything but sit and let Frodo kiss him. Then, it was over. As quickly as it had begun it was a memory, a memory that confused Sam, who flushed in embarrassment.

Frodo raised a shaking hand to trace Sam's face, trail along his cheek, caress his chin. "Sam . . ." his voice was breathless, needy.

Leaning closer, Sam met Frodo's eyes. It had been a kiss of gratitude, after all, for helping his master overcome that terrible fright. It didn't mean anything . . . well . . . unnatural. But . . . if it didn't mean anything like that, why did Frodo seem so intent? And why did he feel so sad?

 _Because, Samwise you fool, he's still shook up,_ Sam berated himself. _And he certainly doesn't need you mistaking a gesture of thanks. He's had a bad fright with Mister Pippin's attack, and he won't be thanking you to attack next._

But Sam's self-recrimination flew out the window when Frodo tugged him into another, lingering kiss.

It took several minutes before Sam had the sense to pull back, heart hammering. "Mister Frodo?"

Frodo's dazed eyes suddenly snapped back to awareness, and he flushed brightly. "Sam . . . ah . . . I . . ." He pushed himself to a sitting position and clambered off Sam's broad lap. "I . . . thank you for . . . helping me. I just went a bit . . . wonky when I saw Pip . . . Uh . . ."

 _Right, we ignore the kiss and get to the problem, Samwise,_ young Gamgee instructed himself. He stood up, moving away from Frodo's chair, but not towards his master. "What happened, Mister Frodo? Why'd you start . . . keening like that?"

A shudder ran through Frodo's thin frame and he wrapped his arms around himself, as if trying to keep in heat. "It . . . scared me . . . I . . . remember . . ." Then he was shaking his head, eyes wide, and backing up towards his chair. "It was nothing, Sam . . . nothing . . ."

Sam wasn't falling for that. He knew something was horribly wrong, and he meant to fix it. "Mister Pippin said you'd been tied up by them." He didn't mention Lobelia and Otho's names. He didn't need to; Frodo paled in understanding just the same.

Frodo's mouth opened, shut, opened once more. As he worked his mouth silently, trying to form words, he sank into the chair. Finally, his eyes tearing up again, he dropped his head into his hands. "They did . . . When I lived with them . . . before Bilbo took me in."

With a cry, Sam slid down to Frodo's feet. "Why, Mister Frodo? Why would anyone want to do that? You weren't more than a child!" His hand went to Frodo's knee absently.

Hesitantly, Frodo reached out and put his hand on Sam's head, feeling the curls tangle around his fingers. "I don't know, Sam. They . . . they said it was because I needed . . ." he broke off again, shaking his head.

"A child don't need to be trussed up, Mister Frodo. And he certainly don't need to be tied nude to a bed! They're sick Hobbits. They shouldn't be in the Shire!"

Frodo laughed bitterly, softly. "Ah, Sam . . . Hobbits say that about me all the time."

Sam's head shot up, eyes blazing. "No, Mister Frodo. They say how you're odd with your reading and being alone and all, if you know what I mean. But I never heard them say you don't belong in the Shire. And I know that you've never hurt a child, Mister Frodo." He rose onto his knees, hands set solidly on Frodo's knees now, trying to get Frodo to see his point. "You'd never truss a babe up and torment it!"

"My faithful Sam," Frodo sighed, the barest of bitter smiles coming to his face, "how would I live without you?"

"You won't live without me, Mister Frodo. I'll be here as long as you need me . . . as long as you want me, sir."

Frodo studied Sam's familiar, round features, his soulful eyes, his determinedly set mouth. Time seemed to stand still as the two watched each other, silent and waiting. It was as if they were waiting for something, something unclear but there if they could only reach out and grasp it.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Frodo leaned down. He let his eyes drift shut and pressed his mouth to Sam's again. The kiss was brief, only a heartbeat, and it was over. "Ah . . . Sam . . . you are so good to me. I'm not the Hobbit you think I am, my dear Sam." His eyes opened once more. "They were right, you know, Sam. I am odd and shouldn't be around normal Hobbits."

The blood was singing through Sam's veins. That kiss hadn't been a thank you kiss. Sam knew. That had been . . . something else entirely. Though the shy Hobbit had little experience with kisses and cuddles, his heart still recognized that deeper emotion. It felt like something tugged on that organ, and Sam had to gasp for air in shock.

"Frodo?"

"Yes, Sam . . . I am trying to seduce you. See? I am a most odd Hobbit. Please, Sam, leave now. If you stay, I'll be too tempted to take you to bed." Frodo's blue eyes looked dark and deep, fathomless in the firelight.

Another long moment passed as the two stared at each other. A soft voice broke the stillness, a decision made.

"I don't think I'll be leaving, Mister Frodo. I think you need me to stay."  
"Ah, Sam . . ." Frodo closed his eyes, moaning out, "I tell you, Sam, you don't want to be here. I mean to do . . . unnatural things to you, Sam. Things male Hobbits certainly shouldn't be doing together . . ."

Sam watched him for a moment more. Then, he leaned up and pressed his lips to Frodo's, hesitant and tender. He had no real experience, and it showed in his trembling mouth and shaking hands. But his own desire flared up, and that, too, showed in the kiss.

Frodo groaned again and slid his hands into Sam's hair, pulling him closer. He slanted his mouth against Sam's, deepening the kiss and running his hands caressingly through the thick curls. It was a long moment before he broke the kiss himself.

"Sam . . . my beautiful Sam . . . you have no idea what will happen, do you? You have no idea what I want . . ."

Sam pulled him down into another kiss. Speaking against Frodo's soft lips, Sam breathed, "Yes, Mister Frodo. I know what you want. I want this, too. Please don't send me away?"

Letting his hands drop from Sam's hair, Frodo sighed. "Never . . . I couldn't send you away if I wanted to. And, Sam, my dear . . . I certainly _don't_ want to send you away." He slid from the chair then, landing on his knees in front of Sam.

Without conscious thought, more kisses followed. Their hands started a clumsy, slow, nervous exploration of each other's body. Vests and shirts were undone, and then discarded. And all the while, those sweet, sweet kisses . . .

It was with difficulty that Sam pulled away from Frodo. The other Hobbit was making his head spin. What was this all about? Was he merely responding to Frodo's need? His vulnerability? Or, was there something more, something deeper? He wasn't sure, and he so wanted it to be. Sam wanted this to be right for Frodo.

And while the younger Hobbit hesitated, the sounds of two Hobbits, talking softly, ventured down to the couple by the fire. Frodo and Sam reluctantly pulled back further, looking over as Merry and Pip made an appearance. Pip was dressed in some of Frodo's clothes, but the bruises on his face bespoke his ordeal.

Merry's eyes roved from Frodo to Sam, both still on the floor without shirts, even if they had a good two feet between them now. He gently tugged a nervous Pippin forward by the hand, and slid his arm around his cousin's waist. Pip opened his mouth to say something, but Merry laid a finger across his friend's lips.

"We need to discuss what happened, Frodo. Now. This is serious."

Frodo looked to Sam, regret in his eyes. This may have been the one and only chance he'd have to wake with Sam in his arms, in his bed, and it was gone. He'd never get another chance if Sam even thought twice about what happened. But . . . as he looked over . . . Frodo's breath caught.

Sam was smiling at him, eyes soft. He certainly wasn't going to allow this to end without knowing if an ending was what Frodo wanted. Gently, Sam reached out and clasped Frodo's hand. "Yes, Mister Frodo, let's talk. We need to make sure they don't hurt anyone else."

Frodo drew his eyes from Sam to look at Merry and Pippin. It was the agony and shame in Pip's eyes that decided him. "Yes. Let's stop the Sackville-Bagginses before anyone else gets attacked." He reached out and took Pip's hand, and his cousin smiled once more.

The four friends went back to talking, even if the conversation wasn't as jolly as it had been an hour ago. The comradeship, however, was stronger than ever. Samwise Gamgee, Frodo Baggins, Meriadoc Brandybuck, and Peregrin Took had that night forged a bond that no amount of wrong could break.

They had each other.


End file.
